


Red

by astorii



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: AU, Case Fic, F/F, F/M, Gen, Kid is very much still a thing, M/M, Murder Mystery, Post-Conan Era, Probably some angst lol, Red String of Fate, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-07-20 04:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astorii/pseuds/astorii
Summary: In which Shinichi finds himself dealing with a serial killer and a soulmate who doesn’t seem to want him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not and never will own DCMK.
> 
> Oh! And this was inspired by a Tumblr prompt I read years ago. ^ ^

10 a.m. on the third Saturday of April finds Kudō Shinichi at a two-seater table in the corner of a modest coffee shop in the heart of Tokyo. As he sips on his larger-than-life-sized cup of iced coffee with a splash of coconut water, he wonders why he isn’t at home or working on another case whether it be from a client or as a police consultant—didn’t Sato mention something about a possible serial killer on their hands?  
  
And then he looks across from him and remembers the out-of-the-blue text he had received last night at 23:57 from one Kuroba Kaito. Right. _That_ is why he’s here. Because Kuroba had asked him to come and Shinichi found it hard to say no.  
  
(There’s something about Kuroba that Shinichi has never been able to understand—  
  
—and it’s just so _exciting_.  
  
Each time they meet, he always leaves asking himself why he feels drawn to Kuroba. There’s a sense of familiarity surrounding him. Shinichi might have asked the magician to meet up if only to satisfy his own curiosity; however, his awkward nature and Kuroba’s obvious discomfort around him have been more than enough to dissuade the idea.  
  
Speaking of, why…?)  
  
Warily, he eyes the mocha frappucino with a _very_ generous chocolate drizzle over two pumps of non-fat whipped cream that Kuroba ordered and then looks down at his own very _plain_ iced coffee. Quietly, he takes another sip while Kuroba snaps a few pictures of his (admittedly) aesthetically pleasing concoction. His watch tells him that it’s been fifteen minutes since they both ordered their drinks.  
  
Kuroba hasn’t said a word.  
  
Shinichi just wants to leave.  
  
“Are you going to tell me why I’m here?” he asks, silently tacking on a vaguely annoyed _instead of literally anywhere else, but preferably at the station_ at the end, but he refrains because it’s not like anyone is going to miss him—except maybe Takagi, but that man is just as concerned about him overworking himself as the others, which is totally illogical because even _he_ knows his limits.  
  
(Or rather, he _learned_ his limits during a bomb scare that occurred not long after he had returned from being Conan. Haibara had given him the clear to make his return as Kudō Shinichi public. Quickly, he had learned of the bomber and had turned to Megure to request his permission to participate as a consultant when Kogorō’s help proved useless. The incident had him running on nothing but coffee for three straight days because the bomber had decided to use obscure folk tales as hints to bomb locations. Admittedly, Shinichi remembers very little about those three days.  
  
He does recall finding himself trapped with the final bomb. Shinichi, who is _still_ growing used to not having to rely on himself, had run off to the bomb’s location once he had solved the riddle. It didn’t occur to him that he could request for back-up and have people listen.  
  
Megure still holds it over his head to this day.)  
  
“Want half of my bagel?” Kuroba asks, dodging the question. “Cinnamon raisin with strawberry cream cheese.”  
  
Shinichi wrinkles his nose. He never liked raisins. And eating in the mornings makes him sick. “No thanks. Can you just answer my question?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroba says, waving him off. Shinichi quirks his left brow. “Just… just gimme a sec.” He huffs. “The lighting here sucks.”  
  
“I’ve given you at least 900 of those—seconds, I mean,” he quips, only pausing to do the math. Kuroba snorts before his phone disappears with a flick of his wrist. Shinichi blinks, momentarily baffled, but shakes his head. Absently, he notes that, despite knowing Kuroba’s interest, he had never seen the magician doing any sort of tricks. Instead of pointing that out, he asks, “Is it a case?”  
  
Kuroba looks at him and rolls his eyes with enough exaggeration that would make Shinichi’s own over-the-top mother proud.  
  
“ _Detectives_ ,” he says, sounding just as exasperated as he does amused. The overdramatic way Kuroba slaps the back of his hand to his forehead makes Shinichi roll his own eyes. “You go out of your way to ask them to hang out _once_ and they think it’s a _case_!”  
  
He’s probably talking from experience, Shinichi thinks, only half-listening to Kuroba and his ramblings. He remembers how he had met Kuroba through fellow detective Hakuba Saguru. Apparently those two had attended the same high school and have never gotten along swimmingly—something about a really bad first impression and baseless accusations according to Kuroba; Hakuba just pinches the bridge of his nose and changes the topic.  
  
Now, Shinichi and Kuroba, on the other hand, had a pleasant if a little awkward first encounter. Shinichi has immediately sensed that there was something special about him. Kuroba wouldn’t stop staring at him as though he were some sort of ghost—of course, this only occurred when he thought Hakuba and Shinichi weren’t looking—and Shinichi himself felt uncomfortable in the magician’s presence. By the end of the day, Hakuba had seemed pleased.  
  
Shinichi still wonders what that was about.  
  
“I think it’s only natural,” he comments idly, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. For one thing, Kuroba has never wanted to be alone with him for extended periods of time. For another, Shinichi has never been able to read Kuroba—something about a poker face—so it piques his curiosity when he notices telltale signs of nervousness: subtle twitching, darting eyes, the verbose prattles...  
  
“Point,” Kuroba concedes, taking a swig of his beverage. His eyes, as Shinichi notices, seem to be focused on his face. Shinichi’s hand twitches—is there something on his face? “In all seriousness, it’s not a case—at least, not your usual one.”  
  
Shinichi hums. Observing Kuroba’s face a bit more, he sees a light blush beginning to blossom on his cheeks. Immediately, he rules out the following: murder, kidnapping, and robbery. And it probably isn’t a missing persons case or a torrid affair. So, what does that leave, then? _Not your usual one_ , he says. Now, what does that mean? What exactly constitutes as _usual_? What constitutes as _unusual_?  
  
Debating the definition of a _not-his-usual_ case, he takes a sip of his iced coffee and notes how the coconut water gives a faint taste of chocolate—he’ll have to thank Ran for introducing him to this combination. But deciding that he’s been patient enough, Shinichi prompts Kuroba to continue with an encouraging gesture.  
  
“This might sound weird,” Kuroba tells him, sounding uncomfortable. Shinichi leans forward, already on the edge of his seat, as he gazes into Kuroba’s wandering eyes. He never noticed how _blue_ they were. He only half-wonders if he should run while he still can. “But, um… you see them, don’t you, Kudō? The Red Strings Of Fate?”  
  
Shinichi chokes.  
  
That… that isn’t what he had been expecting.  
  
Frankly, he doesn’t know _what_ he was expecting, but _that_ is _far_ from it.  
  
How did he—?  
  
“What makes you say that?” Shinichi asks, sounding more defensive than he should.  
  
“Your reaction just now, for starters,” Kuroba says, matter-of-factly. Shinichi feels his right eye twitch. “And maybe the fact that you wear those obnoxiously large glasses when you obviously don’t need them? They’re fake—I can tell. I’ve seen the papers—you never wore them until you returned from that big case. Other than old news, I’ve literally never seen you without them. And that was, like, back when you were sixteen.”  
  
Kuroba reaches across the table, hand outstretched and ready to pluck the glasses off of his face. Shinichi flinches back. Kuroba has the decency to look apologetic.  
  
Ducking his head, Shinichi readjusts his glasses out of habit. “That’s hardly enough evidence. Maybe I just like how I look in glasses.” He ignores the unimpressed look he gets. “Besides, all of that red string stuff? It’s—well, you know—”  
  
“Yes or no, Kudō?” asks Kuroba, pinching his nose. “I’ll know if you’re lying.” He leans back in his seat, heaving a sigh as he crosses his arms and regards Shinichi with a heavy stare. “Look, I know Yukiko-obā—” Shinichi clears his throat “— _Yukiko-san_ used to have her own matchmaking business until her acting career kicked off and then a certain author swept her off her feet.” Kuroba licks his lips, dropping gaze to his drink. “I also know that the ability is genetic—apparently sometimes it skips a generation or two. And that they make special glasses so that Seers don't see the red strings. And, well, it’s either you see the strings or…”  
  
Or he doesn’t, Shinichi mentally fills in.  
  
(Because Kuroba can’t possibly know that he was Conan, right?)  
  
Well, Shinichi thinks, at least now the reason for Kuroba’s nervousness is clear.  
  
It’s a tricky topic—the Red Strings Of Fate, that is. For thousands of years, matchmaking had been a popular business and has only become taboo in the past century. Seers would take in clients looking to find their Fated. Then, one day, not even fifty years ago, it came to light that Seers could manipulate these strings—could _corrupt_ them—and change the Fated. Businesses boomed with people looking to find if their significant other or person of interest was their Fated.  
  
And if they weren’t, well, the Seers would take care of that.  
  
Then such practices were banned in certain countries—the manipulation, that is. Japan simply discourages and frowns upon it—unfair, they say, and the consequences can be… well, Shinichi isn’t too sure about those. Almost all matchmaking businesses shut down—those that didn’t simply struggled financially and some even began underground operations. People didn’t want to know if the person they love isn’t meant to be theirs.  
  
But… some people never believed in the strings. After all, not everyone can see them. For some people, the strings exist only in romantic movies or romance novels. Hell, most people never even find their Fated! Part of the reason so many matchmaking businesses shut down is because so many people thought them to be scams.  
  
“If I were a Seer,” Shinichi starts, “what would you do about it?”  
  
Without missing a beat, Kuroba replies, “I’d ask you to see whether my best friend and I are Fated.”  
  
“And if you aren’t?”  
  
Kuroba sucks in a breath. Shinichi counts the seconds it takes for him to reply. 9… 10… 11…  
  
“I’d ask you to make us Fated,” he whispers.

•••

“Tanaka Kenji, aged 21, part-time worker at _Danny’s_ and a university student at Tokyo University, found dead in his apartment by girlfriend Shishido Judi at approximately 10:30 a.m.,” Takagi says, reading off of his notebook.  
  
Shinichi tugs on a pair of gloves as he kneels down next to the body. One doesn’t need to be a detective to deduce that Tanaka had died from a stab wound located in the chest; it appears to have gone through the heart. A quick glance around the room, which was apparently Tanaka’s living room, shows nothing in disarray and no obvious weapon in sight. There are drinks on the table though. He purses his lips and turns his attention to the body.  
  
A roguishly charming visage. Dark hair that seems to have been dyed a shade darker than its natural color. A somewhat crooked nose. He probably didn’t have a lot of money, but definitely enough and some to get by and splurge on the occasion. And his fashion sense left a lot to be desired—not that it’s something of note—but, oddly enough, he’s wearing a loose red tie over a pale blue sweater and black jeans that had seen better days.  
  
“Kudō-kun?”  
  
“And the girlfriend?” he asks, still examining the body. Warm and stiff. Dead for as long as three hours but no more than eight. “10:30 was just over half an hour ago.”  
  
“She’s in Tanaka-san’s bedroom with Sato-san,” Takagi replies. Out of the corner of his eye, Shinichi catches him slipping his notebook into his inner breast pocket. “Megure-keibu managed to question her before she had a breakdown and became inconsolable. Miwa—er—Sato-san’s been trying to calm her down so she thought it was a good idea to do it somewhere quiet.” The man pauses. “Thank you for arriving so quickly, by the way.”  
  
Shinichi waves him off as he asks one of the forensic officers if they have an idea on what the weapon could be. When he gets a negative, he thanks the officer with a nod. He turns to Takagi with a crooked half-smile on his lips and says, “It’s no problem. I was actually in the area.” He stands up to give the officers room to take pictures of the body. “Thank you for calling me, by the way.”  
  
And for the excuse to leave, he adds privately. Kuroba’s quiet admission had left him feeling uncomfortable. Shinichi didn’t feel _right._ The idea of possibly having to cut Kuroba’s string seems… _wrong_. They stared at each other in silence until the call had come in, minutes later, requesting for his presence at a crime scene.  
  
Takagi gives him his own little smile. “Well, we were hoping with your help we’d wrap this up sooner,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. More solemnly, he adds, “Sato-san and Megure-keibu think this could be the third victim.”  
  
With his brows knitting together, Shinichi tilts his head curiously, which happens to be one of those odd habits he still hasn’t managed to shake from his time as Conan. Thinking back to the other day during a visit to the station when Sato offhandedly mentioned a possible serial killer, he frowns. Shinichi had been working on the murder of a diplomat that one of his clients brought in when she brought it up while he was visiting the station, so he had already been busy.  
  
And Megure has been discouraging him from taking on police cases unless he’s called in or there’s reason to believe that there is some relation with his own cases. Besides, at the time, it wasn’t certain that those two murders had been the work of a serial killer so he told himself not to worry just yet.  
  
“The serial murders, right?” he asks, taking another look at the body. “Sato-keiji mentioned it. I wanted to join the investigation sooner but…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, what makes you think so?”  
  
“Well,” Takagi starts, scratching his chin. Shinichi notices the barest hint of stubble—likely a product of having forgotten to shave with the stress over the idea of a serial killer, no doubt. Without meaning to, he rubs his own chin as well. “Tanaka-san seems to have been attacked the same way the other two have—a stab to the heart, but not with a knife as far as forensics can tell.”  
  
Shinichi turns his attention to the body and kneels down beside it once the officers are done taking their pictures.  
  
“I see,” he murmurs. He moves his hand, placing his index finger just below his bottom lip. It takes a few seconds for him to notice the weight of someone’s gaze on him. Shinichi looks up and meets Takagi’s eyes. The man jumps back, visibly startled and flustered. “What?”  
  
“N-nothing!” Takagi squawks, drawing attention from the forensic officers. He apologizes and everyone returns to work. Shinichi continues to stare at him, brows raised and feeling just a hint of self-consciousness—what is it with people and staring today? “Sorry… just, you looked—it’s nothing! Sorry, Kudō-kun.”  
  
Shinichi frowns. “Okay… I’m just gonna do the, uh, investigative stuff, okay?”  
  
The man just nods fervently, leaving him to his devices. Shinichi ignores Takagi’s odd behavior when he notices a slight bulge in Tanaka’s right pocket. Curiously, he reaches in and pulls out—  
  
Oh.  
  
A velvet box slips from his fingers and he stares at it. He hears Takagi call out his name, but he pays him no heed. Shinichi picks it back up and opens it. Inside, he finds a modest diamond set in a silver band.  
  
“Is that…?”  
  
Shinichi nods, closing the box. “Tanaka-san was probably going to propose to her,” he says despite not needing to. He swallows. “Should we tell Shishido-san?”  
  
The girlfriend, no doubt, deserves to know. The question is: would she _want_ to know?  
  
Takagi looks just as conflicted as Shinichi feels. None of the officers are paying attention—and Shinichi doesn’t know any of them well enough to feel comfortable in asking for any opinions. He looks to the inspector, who has been busy chatting with a forensics officer, and calls out to him. Megure simply purses his lips and nods when Shinichi gestures to the ring.  
  
“Let her know, Kudō-kun,” Megure says. “Then secure it for evidence.”  
  
Shinichi slips the box into his pocket and turns to Takagi. “I’ll talk to her. Please notify me if you find anything.”  
  
“Ha-hai!”  
  
Shinichi grimaces as he heads down the hall. He notices the door at the end is open. Inside, he sees two figures—one being Sato and the other presumably the girlfriend—sitting on the bed. Heaving a sigh, he presses forward.  
  
“May I come in?” he asks, rapping the back of his hand against the open door.  
  
“Kudō-kun! Just in time,” Sato says, turning to smile at him. He nods in greeting. “Megure-keibu suggested you might want to ask your own questions. Shishido-san says she’s ready now.”  
  
“Thank you, Sato-keiji.” Given that both of the women were seated on Tanaka’s bed, Shinichi stood in front of them awkwardly before he pulled the desk’s chair towards him. With as pleasant a smile as he could muster given the circumstances, he says, “My name is Kudō Shinichi. Shishido-san, I understand that you are Tanaka Kenji-san’s girlfriend? How long had you two been dating?”  
  
Shishido gives him a watery smile as she nods. “Ke-Kenji and I have been dating since our second year of high school.”  
  
Assuming she’s also twenty-one, then the two had been dating for about five years. Interesting. He glances around the room. There’s nothing to suggest a woman living here. So, Shishido and Tanaka had yet to move in together. Perhaps the two were waiting to move together in after marriage?  
  
“Can you tell me when the last time you spoke with Tanaka-san was?” he inquires, watching her for any tells that she may be lying. As she’s the one who found the body, it’s only natural that she would find herself as the top suspect; however, her answer and its verity may change that.  
  
“He called me around 9 p.m.,” she tells him, looking like she’s about to burst into tears. “He asked me to come over today—said he had a surprise for me.” When she wipes the corner of her eye, there’s a streak of mascara left on her face. “I was in the middle of a shift at _Lawson_ , so I just said yes and hung up.” With a sniffle, she adds, “I was supposed to be here by 9, but I overslept.”  
  
_Lawson_. A convenience store. He’ll have to check if one of the officers verified her that statement. Jotting this down in his tiny notebook, he allows for Sato to console the woman. Privately, Shinichi thinks about how odd it is to see Sato acting so quiet and soothing in contrast to her usually—for lack of better words—dangerous demeanor. Though, when he thinks about it, her softer side came out plenty of times whenever she spoke with him as Conan or to the kids.  
  
When he looks up, about to ask if Shishido is still up for questioning, he notices that the buttons her top had been improperly buttoned as though she had gotten dressed in a hurry. She could be telling the truth or she quickly changed out of another shirt when it got covered in the victim’s blood during the attack, but he’ll give her the benefit of the doubt until he has more information. And, quickly realizing how inappropriate it may seem to be staring at the buttons of her top, he looks up.  
  
“Are you still okay with questioning?” he asks. She nods while pulling out a handkerchief. With the affirmation, he continues. “Where were you between 2 a.m. and 7 a.m.?”  
  
“Sleeping,” she mutters, hiccuping in the middle of the word.  
  
He winces. “I don’t suppose you live with someone who could verify that, do you?”  
  
“My roommate’s been staying with her parents for the past week.” She sniffles. “And we don’t talk to the neighbors in our building, so they probably got nothing to say.”  
  
He purses his lips and asks for the name of the building. When she tells him the name, it’s only after he writes it down that he realizes that she lives in the same apartment building as Ayumi. It would take her about half an hour to get here then. Shinichi makes a note to have Megure send someone over to confirm that Shishido did not leave her apartment before ten a.m.  
  
“Thank you,” he says. Shinichi wracks his brain for anything else he can ask. “Did you and Tanaka-san fight recently?” When she looks at him with an expression of devastated offense, he hastily adds, “I’m not suspecting you of having killed him, but please understand that I’m only asking so I can get a feel for your relationship with Tanaka-san.”  
  
And for a motive to murder him, he thinks to himself. Of course, the benefit of the doubt still stands.  
  
Sighing, she says, “We had a huge fight about a month ago—we’ve never fought so hard. It… it was because I asked how he felt about living together and he said he wanted to wait until we were married, but he said he didn’t want to get married to anyone but his—” she chokes on a sob “—his _Fated_.” She rubs her eyes. “We went to see a counselor that one of his friends recommended to him or something. Don’t know why. Didn’t think we needed to see one. I thought—I thought we were fine after that.” When she looks him dead in the eye, she adds, “I-I’d never _kill_ him over that. I don’t care about being Fated, but apparently he does— _did_. I… _fuck_.”  
  
Sato shushes her while rubbing circles on her back before she, too, makes note of this. Shinichi shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to do or say in this situation. So, he waits patiently for the tears to pass.  
  
_Fated_ , she says. Shinichi has to resist the urge to groan. There’s that _stupid_ word again.  
  
“Did you two ever check to see if you were... Fated?” he asks.  
  
Sato looks confused by his words, but he ignores her look when Shishido says, “N-no. Even if we weren’t, that doesn’t change my feelings for him. It’s not like you can easily find a Seer business anymore.” She looks away and bitterly adds, “Kenji always… he always talked about how much he wanted us to be Fated. Something about how you can only be your happiest with the person you’re Fated with.”  
  
Not true, he thinks sullenly. Sure, it’s said that there is something almost fulfilling when you find your Fated, but Shinichi is a firm believer in making one’s own happiness with whomever they choose.  
  
“Fated?” Sato echoes, looking dubious. “Not many people care about that type of stuff anymore. It’s usually the older generations.”  
  
“Yeah, well, Kenji obviously did,” Shishido mutters.  
  
Shinichi frowns. He fingers his glasses, wondering if it’s worth checking out whether Shishido and Tanaka were Fated. It’s been a while since he’s taken the glasses off with so many people around though.  
  
“Do you know what he meant to surprise you with?” he asks, mind drifting to the velvet box in his pocket.  
  
When she shakes her head, he expels a sigh as he leans back in his seat. That… that may complicate things. If she truly doesn’t know…  
  
“Do you want to know?”  
  
“What does—” He holds a hand up, prompting Sato to close her mouth while he repeats his question in a voice which he hopes conveys his seriousness.  
  
Slowly but surely, Shishido nods, looking apprehensive. Shinichi takes a deep breath as he pulls out the box, holding it out to her. Sato’s eyes widen in realization. Shishido stares at it.  
  
“I think this,” he says, smiling sadly, “belongs to you.”

•••

After Shishido found herself having a breakdown while clutching the ring to her chest, Sato decided to call it a day. They could return for questioning at a later date and time now that they had her contact information. Shinichi couldn’t object—not when he saw Ran’s face in Shishido’s dark hair and tearful bluish-purple eyes.  
  
Sato and Takagi had driven Shishido back to her apartment while Shinichi went to the station with Megure, exchanging notes and observations in the car, and signed in as a consultant. By the time the pair had returned, forensics had narrowed the time of death to around 7:30 a.m., which means that Shishido would have had to leave her apartment around 7:00 to have killed Tanaka. And, according to Sato and Takagi who had gone ahead and verified Shishido’s alibi via security footage, she likely could not have done it since footage shows her leaving around 9:58 and there were no alternative routes for her to have taken.  
  
Shinichi looks over the first case file. The victim, twenty-seven-year-old office worker Yoshino Yui, was found in her home by her twenty-five-year-old girlfriend Niwa Kiyoko. Same cause of death as Tanaka Kenji. Had been dead for three hours. Nothing else of note.  
  
He turns to the second case file. The victim was thirty-two-year-old Mitsue Shiba, who worked as a baker at a bakery in Beika’s downtown shopping district. He had been found by his wife, Mino, in their home after she returned from an outing with two of her coworkers. He had been dead for five hours. Again, nothing jumps out at him aside from the victim having died the same way the other two had.  
  
The only indication of it being the same killer would be the way each victim died. But… what’s the connection? Is there something connecting each victim or are they chosen at random? That… that doesn’t sound very reassuring—the being chosen at random prospect, that is. If this really is a serial killer with little to no criteria for choosing their victims…  
  
“Kudō-kun?”  
  
Shinichi looks up to meet Sato’s curious gaze. “Wataru brought you the case files, right?” she asks, nursing a fresh cup of coffee. The scent tickles his nose. Her eyes drop to the desk. “Oh, good. So, what do you think?”  
  
“I literally just got them,” he says, giving her a half-smile. It falls away as he turns back to the case files. “Well… I can’t say for certain, but I’m inclined to think it’s the same killer. I’ve only skimmed the files, but…” He scratches his cheek. There’s no doubt in his mind that Sato realizes the distinct lack of connections between the victims. “I’d like to ask the girlfriend and the wife a few questions.” Glancing at his watch, he frowns. It’s just after noon, so maybe a lunch break is in order. “Can you check to see if either of them are available later today?”  
  
“On it,” Sato replies without missing a beat. “Anything else?”  
  
Shinichi shakes his head. “Thank you. Sorry for troubling you. I think I’m gonna take a lunch break now, if that’s okay.”  
  
“You hardly need anyone’s permission to _eat_ ,” she retorts with a roll of her eyes. “We are _not_ having a repeat of the bomb scare, am I clear?”  
  
Ah, yes. Hadn’t Sato been the one to find him passed out at a desk in the station at one point during that case? He still feels bad about that. She likes to remind him of it.  
  
“Crystal.”  
  
With that, she disappears with a fleeting smile, leaving the faint scent of jasmine and honeysuckle in her wake. Shinichi sighs to himself and tidies up his desk before grabbing his suit jacket and heading out the door with the case files safely hidden in his messenger bag tucked under his arms. He’ll consult them with a nice glass of iced coffee. Maybe some curry.  
  
“Definitely some curry,” he mutters as his stomach rumbles.  
  
And it’s thirty minutes later that Shinichi finds himself seated in the corner of a _Danny’s_ , ironically enough, with a plate of curry and a tall glass of iced coffee. He cleans off half of the plate before deciding that his stomach is satisfied enough. Then, he pulls out the file on Yoshino Yui’s murder.  
  
Shinichi flips straight to the photos. Thankfully, the scene isn’t gruesome, but he still does his best to keep the pictures hidden from wandering eyes lest he traumatize someone; it is, however, enough to dissuade him from taking anymore bites of his curry for the time being. Serves him right for working on a case over lunch.  
  
He hums. Nothing seems out of the ordinary with Yoshino’s body in the first photo. Shinichi frowns at the image. She’s half-curled up on the floor. One of her slippers is missing. Her long hair is half-covering her face, obscuring the mask of death that had settled on her visage.  
  
Shinichi looks over part of the written report. No signs of anything in her system—sedatives, poisons, drugs… _nothing_. Stab wound to the chest…  
  
_Wait_.  
  
Nothing in her system? And a stab wound with its entry point being the front of the body? Did Yoshino see her attacker? The idea has Shinichi digging into the other file after pulling it out without hesitation. Mitsue Shiba also had nothing in his system. And Shinichi is willing to bet that the same can be said for Tanaka.  
  
_Hm…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. Hold up. Did... Did I just write a chapter _longer_ than 1k words? Damn.
> 
> But ohoho~
> 
> I’m so excited for this! I have roughly 7 chapters planned out, but I’m aiming for 10. ^ ^
> 
> Anyway. Murder mystery. I got it all planned out. Hopefully I’ll be able to avoid any plot holes, but if there are any in the end, please _do_ hesitate to point them out.
> 
> Please feel free to ask questions tho. I’ll probably answer them in future chapters, but there are things I may miss. ^ ^
> 
> And, if you’re my FBI agent, sorry for the search history on my phone after researching for this story. I swear I’m just a writer.
> 
> Edit: So, I rewrote this so that Shinichi is more of a private eye/police consultant? I was just thinking about the ending and felt that it would make a bit more sense this way. >-< Just... just roll with it. Sksksks. It’s not _that_ weird.


	2. Chapter 2

“Well,” he murmurs around the straw in his mouth, “they each had a significant other.”  
  
Two girlfriends. A boyfriend and girlfriend. A husband and wife. The only other connection between each victim that he can come up with at the moment. If not for the married couple, he’d assume that this supposed serial killer is targeting unmarried couples for whatsoever reason. Perhaps he will be able to find a link if Sato can get in touch with either the girlfriend or the wife.  
  
On that note, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and sees two texts; none of which are from Sato or Takagi, who would probably contact him if there are any available witnesses, but he sees that both are from Kuroba. In other words: _unimportant_. Somewhat disappointed, he slips his device back into the pocket it had come from and returns his attention to the photos.  
  
Yoshino’s half-curled body and Mitsue’s spread-eagled body don’t particularly strike him as anything odd—though, he can’t deny that _something_ feels off. The former probably spent her last moments writhing in agony, curling up as if it would stem the blood flow. The latter may have fallen back in shock and laid there, unmoving, as the life drained out of him.  
  
All in all, probably not the way either of them had wanted to die.  
  
Shinichi releases a breath as he closes his eyes and rebuilds a scene in his head: a modest living room, small and tidy, refreshments (green tea in an owl-patterned yunomi cup and a blue mug of coffee with its handle to the right if he remembers correctly—and he should hope so given how solid his memory is) on the coffee table, and Tanaka’s dead body in the middle of it all.  
  
Absently, Shinichi massages the inner corners of his eyes, pushing his glasses up for a moment before readjusting them with his eyes still closed.  
  
He pictures Tanaka’s body as it had been found, crumpled on the ground between the TV stand and the coffee table and resembling someone who had simply fallen over—not quite the Western comma shape that Yoshino had taken on or as splayed out as Mitsue had been, but maybe a little bit of both.   
  
And then his eyes snap open as something clicks into place. As he recalls his earlier thoughts when glancing around the room for the weapon, Shinichi picks up two photos and murmurs, “Nothing in disarray…”  
  
From what he can tell, the rooms in which Yoshino’s and Mitsue’s bodies were found had been in a state similar to Tanaka’s living room: _neat_.  
  
He jots this down on a notepad that he had brought with him in his messenger bag, circling it and drawing two exclamation points around his note. Shinichi may be the Modern Holmes, but he doubts that even his hero could determine how clean the rooms were simply based on a photo in which the main focus is on the body; however, the rooms seem _too_ clean from what he _can_ see. Perhaps it’s nothing important, but he thinks it’s still something worth noting.  
  
Shinichi also writes down the following next to his little note: _Supposing victims were face-to-face with the attacker and had not been drugged, it’s only natural that they would put up a fight. Thus, the scenes should show some sort of disturbance assuming that the victims fought for their lives._  
  
He frowns. _But the photos do not betray any signs of struggle_. _Culprit either cleaned up or struggle never occurred._ As an afterthought, he adds: _Bodies relocated to scene where found?_  
  
Clicking his pen, his frown deepens as he takes another sip of his iced coffee. He’s almost certain that the rooms each victim were found in had been where the murders took place. It would be too risky to relocate the body—then again, when did that stop the countless of murderers that Shinichi has encountered? Maybe there’s a trick he’s missing…  
  
No. Call it instinct—a detective’s intuition, if you will, but he’s fairly certain that there had been no relocating of any of the bodies.  
  
_Unlikely_. He tacks that onto the end of his last note while pushing back his glasses with the tip of his pinkie.  
  
So why were there no signs of struggle?  
  
Glancing out the window, he sighs, watching cars roll by. Shinichi licks his lips, leaning back in his seat. Would the culprit _really_ risk staying behind to clean up? Take Tanaka’s murder for example: the estimated time of death is 7:30 a.m. or thereabouts and Shishido was supposed to arrive by 9 a.m.. That leaves an hour and a half for cleaning up and getting out of the apartment complex, which is probably more than enough time.  
  
Though, as for the other two… he’ll have to ask the wife or the girlfriend if their significant others had been expecting them at a certain time—he doesn’t think Megure mentioned that when the pair were headed back to the station. There had been three hours between the murder of Yoshino Yui and the discovery of her body. For Mitsue Shiba, there had been five hours.  
  
Could there have been a coincidental change of plans? An uncoincidental change of plans?  
  
Unfortunately, in Shishido Judi’s case, even if she had not overslept and arrived on time, she would have still found her lover’s dead body within the apartment, still with a ring in the right pocket of those faded black jeans.  
  
He sighs. What a shame, he thinks, for such a tragedy to have occurred. Shinichi stares at the photos some more. Neither of the victims seem like the type who would win in a fight, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t try. Why, he himself would struggle in a fight if only because the only means of defense he has are a nasty kick and his limited knowledge of karate imparted onto him by Ran.   
  
Still, he cares enough about his well-being to fight if his life were in danger. And if the victims valued their lives—Tanaka surely would have given the proposal he had been planning—then they—  
  
Wait.  
  
What if… what if they didn’t _see_ a need to put up a fight?  
  
He jots this down too. _Forensics say weapon isn’t a knife_. He can only list so many objects that could have potentially caught the wounds found on the victims. _Weapon seemingly ordinary and non-threatening. Victims saw weapon and thought nothing of it. Thus, no need to fight_.  
  
It’s not as far-fetched as one may believe. A prime example comes of such a situation comes to mind from his time as Conan. Shinichi recalls the case with Hasaka Minayo the beautician. It was the case in which Ran’s mother was used to serve as an alibi. As a hairdresser, Hasaka had been able to bring the weapon near ex-boyfriend and fighter Nakasku Shiro’s neck without arousing his suspicion.  
  
Perhaps a similar scenario had played out? If the victims saw the weapon but didn’t view it as a threat because its presence was to be expected...  
  
Shinichi puzzles over this, setting his pen down in favor of spooning a few more bites of curry into his mouth. He supposes that the victims could have been threatened into not putting up a fight. Or maybe they were simply caught off guard—though, the murderer must be swift and strong in addition to knowing human anatomy well enough to only stab once to hit the heart if that’s the case. Or maybe the attacker had an accomplice who restrained the victims. And those are just a few reasons why there would have been no struggles.  
  
He copies them down.  
  
Hopefully either the girlfriend or the wife are available for questioning. There’s only so much Shinichi can do using the notes in the case files. If not, then he supposes he’ll have to call it a day—though, that’s also if he has no other leads to work with. And he currently doesn’t. Then again, Shinichi may as well just head back to Tanaka’s apartment in case there had been anything he missed. He’s sure that Megure still has some forensics officers on the scene.  
  
And speaking of heading back...  
  
Shinichi glances at his watch. It’s nearing 13:15 now. He probably should be heading back to the station so he can drop the case files off along with his own notes and observations to add to the ones already included in the files.  
  
And, if not already, Megure is going to notice that Shinichi took the case files out with him without permission… again. Given that Shinichi is only a police consultant and not officially on the force himself, it’s likely that he’s already pushing it with _looking_ at the case files let alone _taking_ them. It’s a little disappointing, but he understands. Shinichi supposes that he should count his blessings. Technically, he’s still a civilian—famous detective or not. Being able to glimpse these case files is a privilege that he will gratefully take advantage of.  
  
And, well, _hello_ —consultant! He should reserve some right to the case files of the police want his help!  
  
“Maybe I should have accepted his offer to join,” he mutters. Then again, he’s always talked about how he plans to become a private eye, which he officially did after graduating from university—during that time, he only took on cases when he stumbled upon them, which happened more often than he would like to admit.  
  
It’s nice, he thinks, to be able to work essentially unrestricted.  
  
With a sigh, Shinichi picks up his glass of iced coffee and takes a sip only for the straw to suck on nothing but air. Well, isn’t _that_ just disappointing? And probably also a sign that he really should be leaving. Dismayed, he sets it back down and begins to clean up.  
  
Hopefully, he thinks, this case is wrapped up quickly.

•••

When Shinichi returns to the station, after having repeated the process of signing in as a police consultant, which he really should _not_ have to do given how many times he’s come here, he is met with a familiar look of long-suffering on the inspector’s face as he sits behind his desk.  
  
Already, Shinichi knows how this conversation is going to begin.  
  
“Yo,” he says, saluting the man with a sheepish grin. His fingers knock against his glasses as he does so. “Hope you had a nice lunch break, Megure-keibu.”  
  
“And I hope you enjoyed your time out with the case files,” Megure remarks, his voice dry and admonishing. Shinichi nods. He really did—or at least, as much as one can enjoy looking over case files for what’s probably Tokyo’s next serial killer. “Kudō-kun, I’ve known you since your father decided it was a brilliant idea to bring a _seven-year-old_ to a _crime scene_ , but that doesn’t mean I’ll keep letting you walk out with case files that really should _not_ be seen by civilian eyes.”  
  
Shinichi laughs, knowing full well that Megure truly does not care as much as he says he does. He suspects that the inspector only chastises him to keep up with the appearance of a responsible and exasperated veteran officer. With this in mind, he reaches into his messenger bag and holds out the offending case files for Megure to take.  
  
When Megure tugs the folders out of his grip, he smiles. His mind immediately recalls the time his father had taken him to his first official crime scene. At that point, Shinichi had solved the odd case here and there of missing objects within his classrooms and some other things he can only vaguely remember.  
  
At seven, Shinichi had read more than enough mystery novels and other genres in his thirst for knowledge. He wanted to know what a _real_ case was like. Yūsaku did not deny him this opportunity—and, if anything, it seemed like he had been _planning_ to take Shinichi to his first crime scene as soon as he had turned seven.  
  
It was an eye-opening experience as well as his first experience with a dead body.   
  
For the police, it was a tough enough case that Megure had turned to Yūsaku for help. Shinichi remembers what it was like, watching his father observe the crime scene and interact with the suspects for no more than five minutes. He remembers staring at the body with morbid fascination and unease because human lives are so valuable and _how could anyone dare to take one away just like that_?   
  
And he remembers seeing that all-knowing smirk stretching across his father’s face as his glasses glinted in the light.  
  
Because, in just a handful of minutes, his father had seen through the veil of deception when the police were still scrambling for answers. Shinichi _vividly_ remembers as his father played the role of Mycroft and led the police to the culprit without outright saying who.  
  
That, he recalls, is the day Shinichi knew in his heart that he wanted to be a detective.  
  
And with some reluctance, he pulls himself out of his memories to say a rather half-hearted, “Sorry, sorry.”  
  
“You’re lucky I know and trust you,” Megure tells him, his voice still so dry. His eyes drop to the case files before he looks back up at Shinichi, eyebrows raised and a silent question in his eyes.  
  
“Nobody else saw what was in the files,” he says, bobbing his head. “And I’ve included my own notes, if that makes you feel better.”  
  
“It really doesn’t,” mutters the man, following the release of a drawn-out sigh and a quiet shake of his head. He begins to scan the notes Shinichi had left—printed in his neatest writing and on a separate piece of paper so as to not ruin the professional reports—and hums. “Anyway, any thoughts?”  
  
_Any thoughts_ , he says. Shinichi knows what he means: does he think that there a serial killer on the loose or that this is just a series of unfortunate coincidences?  
  
Shinichi sighs. Behind him, one of the officers offers him a chair, which he gratefully takes. He folds one leg over the other and leans back as he says, “Almost definitely serial. M.O.’s the same but still no clear connection.”  
  
“Thought so.” Megure is still reading over his jottings with a tired frown. “Hopefully we’ll figure out how the killer’s choosing their victims—preferably before we have another one on our hands.”  
  
“There’s gotta be something we’re missing,” Shinichi remarks, drumming his fingers on his knee. “Has Sato-keiji mentioned anything about the wife or girlfriend of the other two victims? I asked if she could see if either of them were available for questioning.” At the raised brows, he hastily tacks on, “Not that I think you did a bad job—because you didn’t; you did a _great_ job—but I wanted to ask some things that—”  
  
He pauses when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Curiously, Shinichi pulls it out, hoping that it could be Sato or Takagi updating him on the situation. Unfortunately, when he turns on the device, he sees a new text from Kuroba, asking if they could meet up again later today.  
  
Shinichi _really_ doesn’t have the time for this.  
  
“You, uh, you going to get that?”  
  
Shinichi scoffs. “No,” he says, clearing the notification before dropping his phone in his lap. Kuroba isn’t important right now. “It’s no one worth talking to. But, _anyway_ , as I was saying, there are a few things that it seems you didn’t ask that I’d like to know. Did Sato-keiji get the okay yet from either of them?”  
  
A little dumbfounded but otherwise used to Shinichi’s rather blunt dismissal, Megure says, “Last I saw her, Sato was headed to the parking lot.” He glances at the clock. “If you run now, you could probably catch her before she leaves. I sent her and Takagi-kun to head back to Tanaka’s apartment.”  
  
“Thanks,” Shinichi says, jumping to his feet. He thinks to ask Megure why the pair are supposed to revisit the apartment, but he can get those answers from the two himself. Bowing slightly, he adds, “Later, then, Megure!” before he breaks out into a sprint.  
  
He dodges a rather bemused Shiratori, who is juggling a coffee cup and some files in the other hand. Shinichi manages to apologize before he darts into the hall. When he rounds the corner, he sees Takagi standing in front of the elevator, fumbling with his phone.  
  
“Takagi-keiji!” Shinichi calls out. He sees the man jump, looking over. Shinichi crosses the distance, stopping next to him just as the elevator door opens. “You’re headed back to Tanaka-san’s apartment with Sato-keiji, right? Is it all right if I come?”  
  
“ _Please_ ,” Takagi replies, gesturing for him to step inside first. Shinichi steps around him. “I was kind of hoping to run into you before we leave. Sato-san said that Niwa Kiyoko-san is free for questioning later today. She said to tell you just in case I saw you before she did.”  
  
Shinichi nods, hitting the button for the parking lot. “So, what’s the reason for returning to the apartment? Forensics should have been out of there by now, right?”  
  
“Well,” Takagi says, scratching the back of his neck. “We got a call from one of the officers. That ring you found? Apparently they can’t seem to find it.”  
  
Oh? Shinichi furrows his brows. The ring is missing? Some part of him doubts that it’s of any true significance to the case, but Megure had wanted it to be taken in as evidence anyway.  
  
“Last I remember, Shishido-san had it, but I thought I saw her give it to one of the forensics officers before you and Sato-keiji drove her back to her own apartment,” he says, frowning. Absently, he readjusts his glasses. He notices that the movement seems to catch Takagi’s attention. “Shishido-san couldn’t have taken it, then.”  
  
“We’re just going to check out the scene.” The elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open, allowing the two to step out. “If we can’t find it, we can check in with Shishido-san just in case.”  
  
Shinichi nods. He doesn’t get a chance to reply because Sato shouts, her voice echoing in the lot, as she leans against the driver’s side of her beloved red Mazda RX-7. Shinichi smiles to himself. It’s been a while since he’s last been inside of it.  
  
“Ah, Kudō-kun, you coming along with us?” she asks, smiling at him. He nods. “Good. I hope Megure-keibu didn’t give you a hard time about the case files.”  
  
“I think he’s pretty used to it now,” Shinichi replies, opening the back passenger door. He slips in, bumping his head on the roof. _Right_. Not Conan-sized. He _really_ should be used to getting into cars by now. “Anyway, Takagi-keiji says the girlfriend is fine for questioning today?”  
  
“And since you’re coming along, we can head straight to the rendezvous point,” Sato says, buckling up.  
  
In the passenger seat, Takagi twists around as the car’s engine starts. “Is your head okay, Kudō-kun?”  
  
“It takes more than a little bump on the head to incapacitate me.” Shinichi thinks back to all the _little bumps_ he’s gotten. Bad memories, those are. Absently, he rubs the spot he had hit.  
  
“I guess it does,” Takagi murmurs, sounding a little thoughtful. He turns back, facing forward as Sato pulls out of the parking spot. In a clearer voice, he asks, “What do you think about the case?”  
  
Shinichi wonders what Takagi may have meant with those mumbled words. He has always wondered if the man figured out his identity. It had been a risky decision to continue wearing the glasses, after all.  
  
And Haibara had made sure that he would never forget that. She spent the better part of Shinichi’s first weeks after his official return nagging him about how people are bound to figure out just where he spent those few years he claimed to be in hiding.  
  
(Avoiding Haibara had been easier said than done given that she’s the one in charge of monitoring his health and making sure he doesn’t keel over whether it be from the antidote or because he’s run himself ragged trying to solve cases while trying to get his life back.  
  
But forgive him if he’s a little selfish and wanted to be done with the red string business.  
  
These glasses are as close as he can get to being _normal_.  
  
The strings are obnoxious and bright and a painful reminder of—)  
  
Clearing his throat, he says, “Probably serial. I’m hoping that talking to Niwa-san will help me determine the connection.”  
  
Sato hums. “You’re stuck on that too, huh? Any ideas?”  
  
Shinichi shakes his head despite knowing her and Takagi’s eyes are turned forward. “The victims were all romantically-involved with someone.” He leans back in his seat. “They could have all known each other or had a mutual acquaintance…”  
  
“Megure-keibu asked Shishido-san if she could think of anyone who would want to kill Tanaka-san,” Takagi says. “Apparently he was a well-liked guy. Not the kind to make enemies.”  
  
“And the other two?”  
  
“The only person who disliked Yoshino Yui, according to her girlfriend, was her boss. Yoshino-san was part of the team in charge of securing a deal with another company and when it fell through, the company lost millions,” Sato answers. “Mitsue Shiba was a quiet guy and didn’t have many friends. According to his wife, he spent too much time baking, whether at home or at his job. He didn’t go out much aside from work.”  
  
Takagi pipes up again. “And we looked into it already. Unless there’s something we’re missing, the victims had no prior relationship with each other and there don’t seem to be any mutuals.”  
  
Quietly, he fingers the hinge of his glasses.

•••

Shinichi settles into the seat across from the young woman who had introduced herself as Niwa Kiyoko.  
  
The ring had not been recovered at the apartment despite how many people were searching for it. Eventually, the time that Niwa had agreed to had grown closer and the three had to leave the search to forensics. Sato and Takagi had dropped him off to meet with Niwa while they went to see Shishido just in case she had taken it with her.  
  
“You’re awfully young for a police inspector,” Niwa says, managing to smile. She had ordered some sort of pink drink while a generous helping of ice. He watches as she unwraps her straw, plopping it into her cup, and smooths out the straw’s paper wrapper, laying it flat beside her napkin.  
  
Shinichi, on the other hand, has a glass of lemon water. He had gotten his fill of curry and two glasses of iced coffee is more than enough for today. He returns her smile as he shakes his head.  
  
“I’m actually on the case as a consultant,” he tells her, pulling out his notebook. He hesitates, wondering if she will clam up knowing that he isn’t officially with the police—though, he tells himself that Sato or Takagi should have already mentioned this to her. “I’ve read over the case files. I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me…?”  
  
“Oh. Okay. All right, I can do that.” She brushes back her bangs but they fan out in front of her eyes again. He notices that her nails are a soft baby blue color, polish chipping off—not that that’s important, but it’s a nice color on the eyes. “Well, um, my name is Niwa Kiyoko. Yui invited me to her house for dinner and that’s when—that’s when I… she…”  
  
“I know,” he says, his voice soft as he places a comforting hand over one of her own. “So, why did Yoshino-san invite you?”  
  
Niwa nods. “It was…” She swallows. “It was our two-year anniversary.”  
  
Oh.  
  
Um.  
  
“She must have been a lovely woman,” Shinichi says, unsure of how to properly respond. He doesn’t want to come across as pitiful or insensitive. And he really would like to know why he hadn’t read about this in any of the reports.  
  
The woman nods, bringing Shinichi’s attention to the dangling earrings that catch the light as they shake. “She’s the _best_ ,” Niwa gushes, pulling her hand away to place both over her heart. Shinichi raises his brows. “Such a romantic! I—” She stops, dropping her hands into her lap. “I guess… she is— _was_ the best person. I can’t believe someone would go and kill her. Not even the boss from Hell would do that.” She stares at him, shoulders tensing at some epiphany she has. “You don’t think someone killed her because she was dating _me_ , right?”  
  
“Do you mean that there is someone who may hate you enough to want to kill your girlfriend?” Shinichi wonders aloud, staring back at her. Wouldn’t it just be easier to murder Niwa herself? He frowns. Could Niwa be connected to the other victims?  
  
“I meant because we’re both women,” Niwa deadpans. She sighs, falling against the back of her chair. “You know how it is—some people aren’t that accepting.”  
  
Oh. To be honest, Shinichi hadn’t really thought about that.  
  
“I’m fairly certain this wasn’t a hate crime, Niwa-san, so don’t worry.”   
  
Shinichi wonders if he’s allowed to tell her that this could be the work of a serial killer whose motives likely aren’t what she fears they may be. Has it been publicized yet? He doesn’t remember hearing anything like that on the news—if he had, he likely would have forced his way into this investigation sooner.  
  
“You’re sure?” she asks, biting on her lip. Her nails are drumming against the table’s surface. The _taptaptap_ is quite soothing on the ears.  
  
He nods. “I’m sure.” When he sees some of the worried lines easing away on her face, he clears his throat. “Moving on, do you by any chance know of a Tanaka Kenji-san? Or a Mitsue Shiba?”  
  
If he remembers correctly, Yoshino Yui had been the first victim. At the time of questioning, there would have been no reason to ask her about these people.  
  
“I don’t think so?” Niwa tilts her head, looking as though she’s mulling over her thoughts and considering these names. Slowly, she shakes her head. “They don’t sound familiar? I know a Yamasaki Kenji though. And my otōsan is a Shiba.” She picks up her drink, sucking on it through the straw. When she pulls away, she asks, “What do those people have to do with the case?” Her eyes flash. “They’re not _suspects_ , are they?”  
  
“It’s not like that,” Shinichi says quickly, hoping that the answer appeases her. He’ll have either Sato or Takagi explain the situation to her once they get here. For now, he doesn’t want her to panic about a possible serial killer. Calmly, he continues his interrogation. “Would Yoshino-san have known them?”  
  
“Probably not,” Niwa replies. “Yui’s only friends are— _were_ from the office—and I know _all_ of them.” She frowns, staring into her drink. “I think she kept in touch with some people from high school though.”  
  
All right then. Shinichi jots this down. Possibly no relationship between any of the victims then.  
  
He picks up his own drink, sipping on his water to buy himself some time. There had been a copy of the initial questions that Niwa had answered. They had been rather straightforward and he doesn’t need any clarification for any of her answers.  
  
“At what time was Yoshino-san expecting you?” he asks, remembering his thoughts from earlier. “Were you late? Early?”  
  
“I… I was early, I think.” She licks her lips. “This happened a few weeks ago, so…” Expelling a sigh causes her bangs to fly upwards a little. “She wanted me over by 7 p.m., but the cake I ordered was done earlier than expected, so I ended up arriving at… around 6:45? It was her favorite—triple chocolate with raspberry filling.” She clears her throat, cheeks flushed as she realizes that she’s getting off topic. “I, uh, I had a receipt for the cake order. It has the time and everything. I think the police took it though.”  
  
“I see.” Shinichi makes note of this. Yoshino has been dead for three hours at that point. If the culprit had stayed behind to clean up, then there would have been enough time to do so and get out without crossing paths with Niwa. “And do you remember what the room looked like when you arrived?”  
  
She frowns. “What do you mean? It—she was just _laying_ there. Like—like a doll.” There’s a sheen in her eyes that makes Shinichi’s throat go dry. He doesn’t know what he should do if she starts to cry. “I wasn’t really concerned about the _room_ when my _girlfriend_ was laying there on the ground, _unmoving and—_ ” She stops herself, wiping her eyes with the back of her right hand. “Sorry. I’m just—it’s… I can’t believe sh-she’s…”  
  
Shinichi pushes his glasses back with his pinkie. “I understand, but are you sure there isn’t anything you remember? Did it look like a struggle occurred in the room?”  
  
“I—no?” She sniffs. “It was clean. I thought that was weird because Yu-Yui’s such a slob.” Niwa huffs, looking a little amused and understandably sad and reminiscent. “Last time, it was a mess and I had to clean up for her. We fought about it sometimes, too. I can’t _stand_ it when things are all messy. I guess… I guess she wanted everything to be perfect.” Shinichi watches her hands clench. “Did that help?”  
  
“More than you’d think,” Shinichi replies, writing it down. Now to confirm the state of the room Mitsue had been found in with the victim’s wife. He taps his pen against his lip. “Say, can you tell me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. There have been changes to the previous chapter. Feel free to reread it if you haven’t already, but the changes aren’t so big that you can’t pick up on them yourself. >-< So, like, if I wrote anything that contradicts what you remember, just roll with it because it’s probably been changed to suit the plot better. Thanks!
> 
> Anywho... I forget how weird it is to write Shinichi? Like a post-Conan!Shinichi interacting with other characters? Like we see _Conan_ interacting with these characters so often, but the times we see _Shinichi_ reacting with these same characters... it’s usually during flashbacks or for only a few minutes.
> 
> But lol. The irony. Shinichi being dismissive of Kaito. Hoo boy.
> 
> We’ll probably see Kaito next chapter? Hehe.
> 
> Also, side note, Yukiko doesn’t know that Kaito and Shinichi are Fated? People have been assuming so and I just wanted to clarify.
> 
> Anywho. I’m very tired. I struggled writing this. Lol.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my work! If you enjoyed reading, please consider leaving a comment and/or a kudos! ^ ^
> 
> Please remember to take care of yourself and any responsibilities you may have forgotten!! Again, thank you, and have a lovely day! xx


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